A Tale of Two Captains
by HardlyFatal
Summary: Crossover with ST: Voyager. Janeway is sent into the past where she meets a man wearing far too much eyeliner. DROPPED
1. Prologue

A Tale of Two Captains - Prologue

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

_"Captain's Log, Stardate 52215.8:  We have just finished a mining operation on an class-M planet that we discovered four weeks ago.  Our dilithium supplies have been replenished, however our food supplies are still running low. Though with the additional dilithium, our replicators can produce enough food to last us for quite a while, I do not wish to rely on them solely. I also believe that the crew's morale could use a little R & R planetside, so we are in search of a planet that will suit both these needs."_

Janeway paused, taking a sip from her coffee, before continuing. 

"Mr. Neelix assures me that a planet with these qualifications is on our trajectory, and we should be reaching it within a day or so. End Log."__

The door to her ready room chimed just as she finished the last of her coffee. "Come in," she called, making her way to the replicator. 

Commander Chakotay stepped into the ready room with a smile. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, handing her a PADD. "Mr. Neelix says the planet we're headed for is quite the paradise. White, sandy beaches, crystal blue water, and lots of sunshine. He also says the fruit that grows there is almost as good a source of vitamins as leola root."

"Hmm," Janeway replied, looking at the PADD even as her fingers automatically programmed the request for another cup of coffee. She glanced up at her first officer with a smile. "Guess I'd better break out my shorts and swimsuit."

"Paris is already organizing a volleyball team," Chakotay told her with a chuckle. "And Neelix mentioned having a beach barbeque."

Janeway took her coffee from the replicator and grinned up at him. "Sounds like paradise to me," she agreed. 

~ * ~

The planet beneath Voyager's orbit was a breathtaking shade of blue, and Janeway admired it briefly from the viewscreen, before looking at Ensign Kim.

"Any signs of life?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Harry shook his head. "Negative for life forms other than animal. It does not appear to be populated."

Janeway frowned, glancing at Neelix. "Mr. Neelix, can you tell me why a veritable paradise is unpopulated?"

The Talaxian shifted, twisting his hands together. "Well, no," he admitted. "To be honest, I've never been there myself. I just know about it from other travelers."

She looked at him wordlessly for a moment and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"There are no signs of any hostile life forms," Harry informed her. "Atmosphere is Terran compatible, slightly lower gravity."

"Fine," Janeway said, rising to her feet. "Mr. Neelix, Tuvok, Ensign Kim, you're with me. Commander, you've got the bridge."

"Aye, captain," Chakotay said with a brief smile, flashing his dimple. "Have fun."

She nodded, stepping into the turbolift, Neelix, Tuvok, and Harry stepping in behind her. "Transporter room two," she told the lift, crossing her arms as she leveled her glare at Neelix. "I would have preferred knowing that you hadn't actually been to the planet before we got there, Mr. Neelix."

Neelix smiled and spread his hands apologetically in front of him. "I'm sorry, captain. It slipped my mind in all the excitement."

"Might I remind you, captain, that procedure would have dictated proper investigation of the planet, regardless of Mr. Neelix's prior knowledge of it?" Tuvok said quietly. "Therefore, the point is moot."

Janeway smiled wryly. "Thank you, Tuvok, for reminding me."

He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "You are welcome."

They stepped onto the transporter pad just as Lieutenant Torres entered the room. "Captain, wait," she said, pushing Ensign Miles aside to take over the transporter duties. "We caught a funny atmospheric anomaly just a moment ago. It's probably just a solar flare, but I want to compensate for it." She pressed a few buttons on the console before looking up with a nod. "There. Energizing."

Janeway felt the familiar tingling sensation as the transporter took hold. Just as the transporter room began to disappear around her, she heard B'Elanna's shout of dismay, and then she knew no more.


	2. Chapter 1

A Tale of Two Captains – Chapter 1

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Shrieks of alarm are rarely attractive-sounding things, but when they are voiced by men with their tongues cut out, it's particularly odd.

"Garghaiee!" shrieked the unfortunate Mr. Cotton. 

"Avast!" shrieked his parrot, hopping excitedly up and down on his master's shoulder. "Avast, ye sea dogs! Avast!"

After that was a moment of dead silence, followed by the din of feet overhead. Captain Jack Sparrow lifted his head from where it was buried in his pillow and stared blearily at the ceiling, as if it might speak to him and tell him why his crew was running about and shouting like madmen, thus waking him from his richly-deserved and desperately-needed sleep.

It had been but a day since his not terribly dangerous, but extremely dramatic, exit from Jamaica, and he was still a little dazed that he was here, in the enormous bed that was the privilege of the captain of the Black Pearl, instead of swinging from Norrington's gibbet back in Port Royal. 

_Ah, dear Will_, he thought, and rolled over onto his back, promptly becoming tangled in the covers. Without Bootstrap's young son he'd never have been able to escape. "Shame he's not here to rescue me from the bed," Jack muttered as he wrenched at the soft cotton encasing his legs. The racket above had not only continued, but increased in volume, and if there were something upsetting the crew-- something that could effect his precious Black Pearl—Jack Sparrow wanted to be on top of it.

With a last yank, he lurched from the bed and toward his clothing. The untidy pile of dirty laundry he'd left in the corner upon undressing the previous night had been removed and replaced with an untidy pile of clean laundry, and Jack allowed himself to note how pleasant it was to be clean and in fresh togs for once—another perk of being captain, and one he'd missed more than most others. 

Barely had he fastened the fly of his trousers, however, when Anamaria began hammering on the door to his cabin with her perilous little fists. He knew it was her because, even more telling than her higher-pitched, feminine voice was the scope and breadth of the obscenities she used whenever she addressed him.

"Jack! Take your hands off your pintle, you worthless drooling slackabed, and get out here!" she yelled. "We've a situation!"

Jack couldn't help but smile. Such a way with words, had that one. Reminded him a bit of his mum. He shrugged into his shirt, not bothering to button it, and grabbed his boots before pulling the door open. 

Anamaria's next bout of thunderous door pounding lit instead on his chest. "No need to pummel me into submission, love," he purred at her, enjoying the spark of fury that lit her dark eyes. "I'm yours for the taking."

"Take **this**," she snapped, and grabbed the front of his shirt to drag him after her. 

"Easy on the delicates," Jack protested, blinking against the glare of the sunlight pouring down through the sails and staggering a little as he tried to pull a boot on. Ah, 'twas a lovely day in the Caribbean, with nary a cloud in the sky. A good day to be a pirate, and especially good to be captain of the Pearl. 

But even Jack's determinedly good humor was susceptible to the crew's mood, and as he was pulled past them by Anamaria he noted the apprehension on their faces. Gibbs stood on the foredeck, shoulders tense in a way that bespoke trouble. Jack forgot his other boot, dropping it carelessly to the deck with a thud, and pulled free of Anamaria's clutching hand. 

He'd only just gotten the Pearl back, and he wasn't going to let anything get in the way of his prolonged, permanent, and irrevocable captainship of it. He strode toward Gibbs with absolute purpose in his step, the majesty of his gait in no way diminished by the fact he only wore a single boot.

"Gibbs, what's—" Jack's words were cut abruptly off as Gibbs stepped to the side, revealing a female. Held on either side by stout sailors, she was struggling fruitlessly to be free. She was not young, but not old, attractive and healthy-looking. Dark red hair had been neatly tucked into a prim little knot but now straggled out around her face from her exertions. She wore a strange garment of stretchy black and red fabric that clung in interesting ways around the parts that most women went to great pains to hide. Anamaria notwithstanding, of course. 

"It's fearful bad luck to have a woman aboard," Gibbs said mournfully, tugging at his ragged neckerchief and wincing when Anamaria turned her violence to him, slugging him in the fleshy part of his upper arm. 

"Who's this?" Jack asked Gibbs after he'd gotten Anamaria to leave off by widening his eyes warningly at her. "We didn't stop at a port last night." He was reasonably sure he'd have remembered if they'd picked up whores for the night's entertainment. "Did we?"

"No, cap'n," Gibbs replied with a last wary look at Anamaria. "I was just standin' here, supervisin' the swabs, when there be this flash o' light in the air, and there she stood, bold as brass." He eyed the woman sternly. " 'Tis a good thing the Frenchman's quick. She aimed… something… at me, but he took it from her." He nodded approvingly at Matelot. "When we searched her, we only found this." He held up a strange, rectangular contraption.

"Let's have a look," Jack said, holding out his hand for both items. 

"I demand to know who you people are," the woman said. Her voice was what Jack's father had once called (in one of his rare playful moods) a whiskey voice, low and husky. Her accent was flatter than the rest of them, causing Jack to mentally attune himself to it to understand her better. "I've done nothing to warrant being treated like this." She tried to pull away once more, then winced when the twin grips on her arms tightened.

"You, madam, are in no position to demand much of anything," Jack replied with trademark laziness, not bothering to lift his black-eyed gaze from the items in his hands. Both were strange, and looked to be made of some type of metal, but it wasn't any that he readily recognized. The weapon-type thing she had pointed at the crew definitely had a dangerous look about it, though he couldn't see where one could load it with ammunition. The rectangular object was just as odd, and he couldn't for the life of him think what it could be used for.

He finally looked up, pocketing both objects carefully. If they were weapons, it wouldn't do to have them misfire in his trousers. "This is my ship you're on. Did you think you could waltz onto it and start dictating?" He fixed her with a piercing look. "I'm not known to respond well to those who fancy themselves a better captain." She huffed angrily, drawing his attention to her chest, which heaved with exertion, and he grinned, revealing a golden tooth among the other pearly ones. "Though you've got what it takes to make a smashing figurehead, I'll warrant."

The woman's eyes widened and with a mighty heave, she managed to free one arm. She launched herself forward and would have punched Jack right in the face if he hadn't been faster. His hand grasped her wrist just a fraction of an inch from his nose, holding it fast.

"Now, now, madam," Jack said softly, "that's hardly the way to ask if you might sail with us, is it?" He shifted his grasp from her wrist to her fingers, then bowed low over it, brushing his lips over the back of her hand in an exaggerated greeting. "I am Captain Jack Sparrow."

He turned to the others. "This is my quartermaster, Gibbs, and the gents preventing you from mangling my handsome visage are Matelot and Moises. The shrew to my left is Anamaria—ow—and—" here he stopped rubbing the back of his head where Anamaria had just smacked him, and chuckled at the sight of Mr. Cotton's parrot releasing a stream of motes to the deck at the woman's feet "—that is Mr. Cotton's parrot."

"Where's yer articles, lassie?" the parrot cried. "Where's yer articles?"

"This," the woman fumed, her blue eyes flashing in ire, "is ridiculous."

"It might be less so if you told us your name, lass," Gibbs said in what he thought was a very polite tone.

Her eyes narrowed. "Very well," she conceded. "Perhaps we can make some sort of deal." She took a deep breath. "I'm Kathryn Janeway, captain of the sta—  the ship Voyager."

"You're a captain too, are you?" Jack stroked the stubble on his chin speculatively. "Now that's… intriguing." He had not missed her stumble mid-sentence. "Very, very intriguing."

~ * ~

This was not the first time Admiral Edward Janeway's daughter had been in a weird situation. As she'd told Ensign Kim once upon a time, "Weird is part of the job description."

As weirdness went, this wasn't that bad. The aliens surrounding her looked very human, almost convincingly so, and the ship that pitched and rolled beneath her feet looked like something out of a history book of earth. Their clothing was very reminiscent of the late 1600's, as were the weapons she could see that most of them carried. As she regarded her alien hosts closer, she had to wonder what sort of shipping company they were.

The one who had introduced himself as Captain Jack Sparrow was looking at her with a thoughtful speculation she didn't quite like.  

Until she knew more about what happened and where she was, she'd just have to play along. This planet was obviously pre-industrial, if their mode of transportation and weaponry was any indication. The Prime Directive, therefore, would have to be strictly adhered to. 

First things first; she needed to get somewhere where she could try to contact Voyager and find out just what the hell had happened. But she couldn't do that standing on the deck of a ship in front of all these witnesses.

"Captain Sparrow," she said. "Would it be possible for you to drop me at the nearest port? I need to make arrangements to return to my ship."

"Here's the thing," he replied after a moment. "I know nothing of an English ship called the Voyager being anywhere in the Caribbean, the Spanish Main, or even the north Atlantic." His black eyes gleamed with satisfaction, knowing he'd caught her in a lie. "Unless you sail under a French flag? Or a Spanish one?"

She had the distinct feeling she was being toyed with, much as a cat would play with a mouse. It was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed.

Not giving her time to address his question, Captain Sparrow forged on. "And I've never seen a woman dressed as you're dressed, madam. Not," he continued with a leer that caused sunlight to glint once more off his golden tooth, "that I'm complaining, savez."

Janeway stiffened under his leer. "I'm sailing with the French fleet," she answered quickly, her mind reeling with the implications of what he was saying. The names Caribbean, Spanish Main, North Atlantic, French, English….was she in some alternate universe that mimicked her own planet's time period? "The uniforms are a new design, to allow better freedom of movement." The situation had definitely gotten weirder, but she kept her face carefully neutral. 

Captain Sparrow opened his mouth to speak, but must have decided against it, for he fell silent. However, the irrepressible naughtiness in his eyes informed Janeway that he was thinking something she just **knew** she'd find not only risqué, but likely highly offensive, as well.

"Sailing... with the French." His emphasis on the last word indicated the depth of his skepticism. "And here was me thinking that their navy existed for Frenchmen to get **away** from Frenchwomen."

The laughter of the crew surrounded them, and Janeway felt her face lock into the neutral expression she adopted when it was inappropriate to frown or otherwise show displeasure. "It's an experiment," she said flatly, refusing to rise to his bait. "Voyager is the only ship of its kind on the Atlantic."

"Well, the French **are** known for being far more liberal than the English where their women are concerned," Captain Sparrow allowed, but something told Janeway she was still being mocked.

The man was infuriating, to say the least, and Janeway closed her eyes a moment to calm her ire. It would serve no purpose to anger him. Until she could get her tricorder back and use it to discover just what had happened and where she was, she was, unfortunately, at his mercy. "Will you take me to the nearest port?" she tried again in her most reasonable voice.

"But your captaining a ship for the French navy--" he continued as if she had not spoken, and moved his hand in a curious gesture somehow conveying utter disbelief and patient tolerance, all at once— "does not address how you came to be upon my foredeck when there is no possible way for you to have come aboard. Gibbs!" he barked suddenly, startled those around them into twitching.

As Gibbs had been standing right next to the captain, the man winced at his volume. "Yes, cap'n," he replied.

"Has another ship been seen in the remote vicinity of the Pearl since our departure from Port Royal?"

"No, sir," Gibbs replied.

"In that case, Gibbs, I will assume that a squadron of angels on wing has not been seen, either." His head swung back to glance at Janeway, the beads in his hair clicking faintly in the silence after his words.  She fumed silently back.

"No, sir," Gibbs replied, faintly, then bit his lips to keep from laughing at the spark of anger that lit in the woman's eyes.

"Ah, then it would appear we are in a quandary."  Captain Sparrow cocked his head in mock curiosity, appeared rather birdlike himself. "And I am not a man who particularly enjoys quandaries, unless I'm the one causing them."  He took a step closer to her; he smelt of sunshine and rum and something else that she recognized on a purely female level, and which made her angry with herself for noticing at all.

Janeway took a deep breath. "Captain, I assure you..." she began, only to be interrupted by him once more.

"Will you not tell me how you really came to be on the Pearl?" he asked, voice low, smooth and persuasive, and this time, Janeway actually shivered.

She stiffened her spine and was privately amazed that her teeth did not actually grind. "I have told you all that I can," she replied with forced evenness.

"Ah," was all he said. "Ah." Then he stepped back once more and swept his arms out to either side.  "In that case, I am delighted to invite you to partake of all the hospitality the Black Pearl can offer."

Janeway blinked. Before she could entirely fathom exactly what that meant, Matelot and Moises had begun pulling her forward toward the stairs leading belowdecks.

"Wait," she cried, pulling against her escorts. "You're making a mistake."  She set her legs against the deck and refused to move.

"A mistake?" His voice was soft, almost carried away by the balmy breezes that floated around them, but every member of the crew immediately went still, waiting for him to continue.  "I'm not the one who just appeared on the deck of a pirate vessel, madam. You might want to reconsider your definition of that word."  Then he nodded at the two who held her, and she was pulled unceremoniously down the stairs.

"Please, I'm not your enemy," Janeway shouted over her shoulder, though her blood froze at the word 'pirate'. "This is all just a misunderstanding." 

The grip on her arms tightened painfully as they escorted her below. She was dimly aware of the sound of splashing, and noted that they were walking through water up to her ankles. Her mind was spinning, and she was only marginally aware when they shoved her into the brig.  Only the sound of the key locking the door broke her out of her haze.

"Enjoy your stay," one of them had the wit to say as he pocketed the keys. 

She waited until they left before tapping her combadge. Somehow she'd known, even before it gave a fizzled chirping noise, that it wouldn't be that easy to contact Voyager. Considering everything that had happened so far, it didn't surprise her that there was no response. 

The only bright spot, to her way of thinking, was that even if Captain Sparrow had both her phaser and tricorder, at least they weren't destroyed. But there was the unsettling concern of what would happen if he poked around with them too much. No, she had to get them back as quickly as possible.

The only question was, how.


	3. Chapter 2

A Tale of Two Captains – Chapter 2

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Her feet were wet, her hands were freezing, and her stomach was beginning to churn in a nauseating fashion from the motion of the ship.  Starships just didn't move the way the Black Pearl was currently pitching, rolling, heaving....she had to stop thinking about it or she was going to be sick.    The solitude of the brig gave her a chance to think over her situation, and hopefully come up with a plan to escape it.

Janeway had been languishing in the brig for several hours when a midget came down with a bucket for her-- she shuddered to think of what she was supposed to use it for-- and she realized this might be her only chance to get out of the damp hold and near enough to Sparrow to get her belongings back. She asked the midget if she could speak with the captain. "I have something to say that I think he'll be very interested to hear."

The midget eyed her warily, but nodded before stumping back up the rickety stairs. Janeway busied herself with staring out the jagged hole in the side of the ship, through which she could see nothing but miles and miles of more crystal-blue water, until she heard more bootsteps plunking noisily down into her dungeon.

This time, it was Gibbs. "The captain'll see ye in his cabin," he said, a trifle remote, and she wondered what she'd done to warrant such a cool demeanor on the quartermaster's part. But then he was unlocking her cell and motioning for her to precede him up the steps, and she didn't find she cared much. There were more important things to attend to.

Abovedecks, it was twilight, and though the ship and crew were as if painted blue from the descending night, the sunset in the distance was nothing short of magnificent: a brazen display of russet, lavender, even a smudge of green along the lowest edge of the horizon. Janeway paused to stare in amazement at it. She didn't get to see nearly enough sunsets aboard Voyager.

"Just another reason to sail the seas," commented a voice in her ear at the same moment she smelt something spicy and male, and Janeway turned swiftly to find Sparrow directly behind her, a cocky half-grin on his lips as she glared. 

"Why not sail them legally?" she snapped, more sharply than she'd intended.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked by way of reply. Then he motioned toward the glass-paned door to his cabin and winked at Gibbs. 

Gibbs winked back and tugged at his forelock before leaving them, and Janeway was left with the unshakeable feeling that some base form of communication had just flowed between the two men that she was completely sure she didn't want to know the meaning of.

She pushed open the door, mentally rehearsing the plausible lie she'd come up with during her stint in the brig. It sounded feasible, to her way of thinking, except for one, small thing: she still couldn't come up with any way to explain her sudden appearance on deck. The irony of it was, that even if she could disregard the Prime Directive and tell him the truth, she doubted he would believe it any more than he had believed her earlier explanations.

Inside the cabin was cozy, candlelight burnishing the interior of carved wood and brass with a gold-red glow. The table was set for two, and the centre was heaped with a bountiful, delicious-looking meal. Janeway's sharp eyes flicked around the room for possible places her tricorder and phaser could be stashed.

"Have a seat," Sparrow said, motioning toward a chair. "Let's not stand on ceremony; I have a feeling we shall become grand friends."

Janeway took a seat on the proffered chair and forced herself into a relaxed and open pose. "I had expected an audience with you, not a supper companion."

He sat and poured himself a blackjack full of murky brown liquid from the leather-wrapped flagon on the table at his elbow. "I was feeling generous."

"I would like to tell--" Janeway began, but he waved her words away with a languid gesture.

"Later, later. First, we eat." He took a deep sip of the liquid-- from the fumes wafting over the table, Janeway could only surmise it was grog of some sort-- and eyed her over the blackjack's rim. "And then, later, you can tell me every last one of your secrets."

Janeway took a cautious sip of the contents of her own mug. Miraculously, she managed to neither choke nor sputter on the foul-tasting brew, and saw a flicker of respect come into the man's dark eyes. "I doubt," she began with a hoarsened voice, "that you'll find every last one of them very interesting."

He passed her a platter of roasted fish. "You might be surprised at what I find interesting, madam," was his enigmatic reply.

She eyed the fish for a moment, before sliding one of the smaller ones onto her plate. She took a tentative bite, and found it surprisingly palatable. 

Her surprise must have been evident, because Sparrow chuckled. "The midget's quite a good cook." A memory seemed to assail him then, because winced and continued, "Damn sight better than Anamaria, at least. But I suspect her of trying to poison us for expecting her, as a woman, to rattle the pots and pans."

Janeway lifted an eyebrow at him, her fork half-way raised to her mouth. "There are many women whose talents do not lie in the kitchen, Captain Sparrow," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "I myself can't cook anything besides a good cup of coffee."

Jack grinned at her dry tone. "I am sure, my dear, that you have other... talents… to recommend you."

She lifted her cup to her lips and took a healthy sip of whatever vile concoction was in the cup. "You'd be surprised," she muttered.  "About Anamaria," she ventured, trying transparently to change the subject. "She seems very... proprietary toward you. Are you and she...?"

Sparrow looked up from his plate, startled. "Me? And Anamaria?" He went pale under his healthy tan. "Er, no. And no again. The woman's proprietary toward the Pearl, is all. Never met a more ambitious creature in my life, nor a more angry one." He stabbed a slice of pork from another platter. "And I've sailed with pirates the likes of which would curdle your blood, mind." He finished off his pork with relish, then leant back in his chair. "Life's too short to be so out-of-sorts all the time, don't you agree?"  

"I agree that one needs to have one's priorities in order," Janeway allowed, wondering where he was going with this.  

"Indeed," was his reply. "And one also needs to indulge in the myriad vagaries of the flesh, would one not agree? After all, there's no point in denying one a bit of pleasure now and then."

Ah, there was his point. "Indeed," she agreed, her tone arid. "But there are things besides pleasure that are important, too." He looked baffled at that, so she elaborated. "There are things like duty and responsibility, also."

"Yes, I've heard of them," he said dismissively, waving his hand. "Dreary things."

"Hm, yes, dreary," Janeway murmured agreeably, her mouth quirking in a half-smile. "Though I'm sure you're one of those sailors who has a sweetheart in every port, to enliven the dreariness." She grinned challengingly at him. "Am I right?"

Sparrow frowned and rubbed his jaw. "The use of the word 'sweetheart' usually indicates some tender feeling, would it not?" At her slow nod, he continued. "Then I'd have to say no... most of the women at my various ports of call are distinctly... untender toward me."

"Imagine that," Janeway said dryly, lifting her cup to her lips. "Would that be because you're somewhat of a rake and a scoundrel, Captain?" she asked.

He grinned lazily at her. "Only somewhat?"

Janeway laughed at that, surprising herself at how she was genuinely enjoying his company. It was refreshing to be with someone who didn't feel the need to proclaim his steadfastness at every turn. She was actually finding his company pleasant and-- how much of this grog had she drunk?-- attractive. Peering down into her blackjack, she realized with a start that it was nearly empty. "Ah, that explains it," she muttered.

He refilled her mug and his own. "What explains it?" She peered suspiciously at him, and then made a point of pushing the mug away. He had the nerve to grin at her, not at all bothered that she was aware of his ploy.

"If the meal is done, I really must insist that we discuss terms for you to release me," she said, and reached for the pitcher of water in the centre of the table. She filled a cut-glass goblet and took a deep draught, welcoming the clearing of her head as she swallowed. 

He slouched back in his chair, mug held loosely in one hand, and regarded her through half-closed eyes. "So," he said slowly. "What fairy tale do you wish to tell me this time, captain?" The way he drawled the last word set her teeth on edge but she only displayed a determinedly polite smile.

"No fairy tale," she replied evenly, playing idly with edge of her napkin. "Just the truth. I will tell you as much of it as I can," she told him softly, and the sincerity in her voice seemed to reach him, because he leant forward again, elbows on the table, and surveyed her with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

"I am the captain of the ship Voyager. I was about to leave my ship when something went wrong. I don't know what, exactly, but one moment I was on my ship, and the next I was on yours."  She wrapped her fingers around the water goblet and focused her attention on it rather than him.  "I can't explain to you how it happened, because I don't honestly know myself." The last part, at least, was the truth. She didn't know how she'd wound up on his ship without the rest of the away team.

She wrapped her fingers around the water goblet and focused her attention on it rather than him. "Any more than that, I cannot say." She looked up at him, feeling slightly unnerved by his unwavering black stare. "I have to ask you to trust me, after that."

He laughed right in her face. "Trust is a commodity of which I fear I am in short supply, madam," he replied at last, still smiling as if she'd made the funniest joke in years. "Try again."

She stiffened. "I am telling you the truth," she insisted, unused to having anyone doubt her in such a manner. 

"Of course you are," Sparrow said gently, and she thought for just a moment that he believed her. Then he kept talking, and spoilt the impression. "And I'm the queen of Portugal."

"You're wearing enough eye makeup to be," she snapped, letting her temper get away with her for a moment.

He stared at her in astonishment for a long moment, then burst out laughing again. "You've the tongue of an adder," he said with admiration. "Have you no fear of insulting a pirate?"

"I've faced down much worse than you, Captain Jack Sparrow," she shot back, her eyes flashing in ire. "Much worse." 

Rather than being offended by her flippant disregard of his dangerousness, he appeared intrigued. "Have you, now?" he murmured, the low cadence of his voice bringing another shiver to her spine.  "But there are all kinds of danger, aren't there?"

Janeway wondered idly how a man with beads in his hair and gold teeth and entirely too much kohl around his eyes could possibly be even remotely attractive to her, but the sound of his laughter ringing off the walls of the cabin was seductive to her. It had been far too long since she'd enjoyed the pleasure of male company besides that of her crew. Far, far too long. The thought made her irritable, and she frowned with more fierceness.

That seemed to amuse him even more, sending him into another peal of laughter.

Janeway reached for her recently abandoned cup of grog and took a healthy sip. "I'm glad I amuse you," she growled, although it became clear to her that she had no shield against his merriment. Against her will, she found her own lips twitching as she fought to keep from joining him in his laughter. "So, Captain Sparrow," she said at last. "Tell me about your Black Pearl."


	4. Chapter 3

A Tale of Two Captains, Chapter 3

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Janeway was so tired after her lengthy argument with Sparrow to give her something to sleep in-- the result being the rumpled, mostly-clean shirt she now held in her hand-- that she barely noticed the bolt on the outside of the door.

"Need any help with that, luv?" he asked, waggling his fingers at her.

Janeway was used to his half-drunk leering by this point. "I think I'll manage," she said dryly. "I'm not that drunk," she added under her breath. Truthfully, she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually felt this way. Synthohol just didn't have the kick of real liquor.  She held the shirt to her chest and looked at him pointedly. "Goodnight, Captain Sparrow."

"Jack," he said, tipping his head slightly and causing the beads in his beard to clink together. He turned to go, pausing at the door. "Call me Jack." The bolt slid home, and Janeway thought about protesting for a second before recalling how vastly preferable this tiny cabin was to the cold, wet brig she'd been in before. _Make the best out of any bad situation_, her father always said.

She wasn't fooled by his sudden onset of good will; no, he was after something and going about it dishonestly. Just like she was. In addition, she was not ignorant of the spicy, masculine scent that clung to the shirt, though she tried hard to be. "Jack," she muttered. "Just call me Jack." A snort escaped her as she pulled on the shirt, tossing her uniform-- combadge and all-- onto the empty chair beside the table.  She crawled beneath the blankets and blew out the candle, hoping that there weren't any uninvited guests sharing the bedding with her.

Janeway awoke a few hours later when a giggling, staggering Anamaria fumbled around in the darkness. Moonlight streaming through the porthole showed Anamaria's increasingly nude form as she removed article after article of clothing, and Janeway felt it prudent to announce her presence. "Anamaria, Jack said it would be alright for me to share your cabin."

The young woman seemed utterly unsurprised. "Aye!" she replied cheerfully, her soused voice loud in the tiny cabin. "As long as you don't steal all the blankets!"

Flopping into the bed, Anamaria burrowed under the covers and Janeway found herself assailed by the powerful scent of rum on the other woman's breath. "Whew," she murmured, amazed. "How much have you had to drink?"

Anamaria laughed, sending another gust of pungent fumes in Janeway's direction. "I have no idea," she said before continuing, "Enough to be able to fuck Kursar." She frowned. "Or was it Ladbroc?" She giggled, sending a thrill of alarm up Janeway's spine. Anamaria giggling was rather disconcerting. "I don't know which one it was, actually." She sighed happily. "He weren't bad, though."

Janeway blinked, honestly shocked by the young woman's coarse language, as well as her casual attitude towards the activity itself. At her age, with her experiences, she didn't think there was anything left that could leave her completely speechless, but Anamaria had done it with ease. But there was still more surprise to come, for Anamaria snuggled right up to Janeway, head on shoulder, and passed out. Soon, the only sound filling the cabin was that of the woman's soft snoring.

~ * ~

Janeway woke suddenly, feeling the rumbling of her empty stomach and wondering what Neelix would serve for breakfast that day.  Then she opened her eyes and saw the grubby nautical surroundings and remembered the entirety of the previous day.

It certainly wasn't the best start to her morning she'd ever had.

A low and pitiful groan escaped her and she closed her eyes again. "Coffee," she muttered. "I need coffee." Knowing she couldn't stay in bed, no matter how much she dreaded facing the reality of her situation, Janeway reluctantly rose from the blankets; the shirt Jack had lent her flopping around her bare knees. She yawned, reaching blindly for her uniform, and started when her fingers brushed the bare wood of the chair. 

Janeway went to the door, but it was bolted shut once more. She pounded on it for a minute, calling for someone, and eventually Mr. Cotton appeared.

"Top of the morning," squawked the parrot. "Top of the--"

"Oh, shut up," Janeway snapped.

Both Mr. Cotton and the bird looked most offended by her interruption but she pushed past them both, making her way topside. Her bare foot squished on something she might, in a better mood, have been concerned about but the way she felt at that moment, nothing was going to distract her. Conversation gradually ceased at the sight of her making her purposeful way across the deck toward the swarthy figure at the rear, until the only sound was the waves lapping gently against the sides of the ship.

Janeway saw Gibbs' eyes widen at her approach, and nudge Jack urgently with his elbow, causing him to turn to see what the fuss was all about. A slow, lazy smile curved Jack's mouth as he watched her approach, his eyes openly appreciative.

"I see you've finally decided to honor us with your presence," he commented, twitching the wheel an inch to the left.

"No thanks to whomever locked me in Anamaria's cabin," she replied, surprised at the evenness of her voice.

"Just for your own safety, madam," Jack told her with a half-grin. 

"And what of the safety of my belongings?" she enquired sweetly. "Are they to be safe, too?"

Jack quirked a brow at her. "I sincerely doubt that anything is safe aboard a pirate vessel, madam," he replied. "Belongings, virtue...might as well drop them over the side as soon as you step aboard."

He was **teasing** her. Another time, she would have enjoyed it, but not now. "My uniform is missing."

Jack stared at her without comprehension. "And?"

She gritted her teeth. "Someone has stolen my uniform. What are you going to do about it?"

He blinked. "Er." Then he swept his arm in an all-encompassing gesture to indicate the crew. "Pirates, love." That seemed to say it all.

Janeway sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I have nothing else to wear, Captain," she told him, voice low and aggravated.

His lips twitched, as if he were forcibly restraining himself from grinning. "A tragedy," he declared, and beside him, Gibbs reacted for the first time since Janeway's appearance on deck; the quartermaster snorted before trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

She opened her mouth for a scathing retort, when the deck dipped suddenly beneath her feet.  She stumbled forward and would have crashed in a manner most undignified for a Starfleet Captain, if it hadn't been for a pair of arms suddenly catching her. Looking up, she found her face only inches from that of Jack Sparrow, and at this proximity felt like she could see right through to his soul. There was a fresh scar bisecting his left eyebrow, and a fading bruise along his jaw also spoke of recent tumult. The kohl on his eyelids was drawn harshly and caked a little in the fine lines bracketing his eyes; despite his easy laugh and youthful demeanor, this was no stripling lad, but a man her own age who had borne many trials in his life.

He set her none too gently back on her own feet, and Janeway saw for the first time that he was fully dressed, hat to boots, and wore not only a sword at his side but had a pistol thrust through his belt, as well. Looking around at the tense faces surrounding them, watching, she saw that all of them were similarly armed.

"What's happening?" she asked, ire dissolving in the face of potential danger.

"It would appear that the commander of the Dauntless has managed to pick up a few tips on sailing recently," Jack replied, his tone a touch sour as he stared toward the west. Janeway could see nothing, but if the grim lines of his mouth as he peered into the spyglass were any indication, it was far closer than he'd have liked. "It's approaching far quicker than it should be, really, and that doesn't make me a very happy captain." He held out his hand to one of the crew, who slapped a cross-shaped object into it. Sparrow then thrust it at Janeway, muttering, "Here, make yourself useful, at least."

She stared down at the wooden instrument in her hands, baffled. "I can't stay on deck without being properly attired," she said, putting both hands on her hips. Someone whistled appreciatively, and she realized the movement had made the shirt ride up, revealing a goodly portion of her thighs. Quickly, she dropped her arms to her sides and glared up at Jack. _I've dealt with the Kazon and the Borg. Surely I can deal with this, _she thought, taking a deep breath. "Someone better give me back my uniform, or else."

The scarred eyebrow rose slightly. "You're in no position to be makin' threats, luv," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You'd be wise to remember that." 

Pride stiffened her spine. "Fine," she snapped. Her fingers curled around the instrument he'd handed her and she held it up at him. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

The other eyebrow rose to match its mate. "It's a cross-staff." At her look of confusion, he smirked slightly. "It's used to navigate."

She glanced down at the strange wooden object in her hand. "We have other methods to learning where we are and where we're going," she muttered, causing him to quirk a dark brow. 

"And would any of them happen to be in my cabin at this very moment?" he asked softly.

For a moment, she thought her heart would stop, and was sure her alarm showed on her face. "No," she said, surprised at how casual it sounded. "Those are mere trinkets. The things we French use are far more sophisticated than that."

"Crafty buggers, the French," Jack agreed with deceptive casualness. Nearby, Matelot beamed with pride. "On pouvait presque oublier qu'ils sont les fromage-mangeur singes de surrompre." Matelot frowned.

Janeway also frowned, because her mind was whirling with a dozen thoughts, the foremost among them being _Why can't he be speaking Klingon?_ She wasn't bad at Klingon. Even her Vulcan was passable, thanks to Tuvok. But she'd never been even remotely interested it the Terran languages other than the English spoken by virtually everyone on the planet. Without her combadge, with its universal translator, she had no hope of knowing what it was he'd just said. 

Schooling her features into something resembling comprehension, she could see she'd fooled no one, especially not Jack Sparrow. "So," he began, "I catch you in another lie. Not that I really expected you to be French, savez, but it would have been a pleasant surprise. You know, to break up the day. Gets boring on the open seas, it does. Nothing but miles of water all 'round. You wake up, have brekky, check the quadrant, plot which settlements to pillage. A little bit of refreshing honesty might liven things up a bit."

Janeway laughed at him. "You wouldn't know what to do with an honest person," she replied. "They'd scare you senseless."

Jack exchanged looks with his crew. "This is true," he admitted wryly, and they laughed. "I couldn't get away from Port Royal fast enough, bursting at the seams as it is with all its honest citizenry." His smile melted from his face, then, because he seemed to remember something not entirely pleasant. "Speaking of honest citizens," he murmured, then, "Marty, get aloft to the nest, and look you to the west. Tell me if you see anything... interesting. Say, Dauntless-shaped."

Marty obediently scampered up the rigging, spyglass tucked into his belt, to the crow's nest and peered into the distance a long while. "Aye," he called down at last. "I see her. In full sail, and bearing straight for us."

Jack closed his eyes whilst muttering something hideous under his breath. When he opened them again to find the entirety of his crew staring at him, waiting for orders, he was all business. "All hands to your posts, ye scabber's dogs!" he said, scarcely raising his voice, but clearly heard nonetheless. "We make for Hispaniola."

"Hispaniola?" Anamaria followed at his heels as he strode toward the helm. "The Spanish are no more pleased to see the likes of us than the English are, Jack," she told him as Janeway drifted along with them, clueless as to which might be the best strategy but terrible interested in their argument anyway. "We'll be swinging in no time."

"Not true," Jack protested. "I have it on excellent authority that there's a cove on the northern coast that very few know about, the Pearl will fit in there, nice and snug. They'll never find us."

"We just have to get there before they catch us," Anamaria intoned darkly, and stomped off to her post as Jack took his place behind the wheel. Feet apart, shoulders back, hair blowing in the wind, he looked every inch the rogue, the scoundrel, the pirate. Janeway found it quite attractive until he looked hopefully in her direction and she realized he'd been doing it on purpose.

"Not that I'm a proponent of violence," she began mildly, "but isn't fighting an option?"

Gibbs stared at her in amazement, and Jack only smiled, as if she'd finally confirmed something he'd suspected all along. "Ah, now, luv, you've just revealed your hand," he told her with just the barest touch of smugness. "If you were any sort of ship's captain at all—even a French one—you'd know all about the Dauntless."

Ah, so the Dauntless was without peer in the Caribbean where warfare was concerned. Jack seemed utterly confident in his ship and crew; for him to back away from a fight must mean that the battle would assuredly not go well for them. "I've told you all I can," she said quietly. "Now, can I please have some clothing?"

Notes:

Early cross-staffs had only two pieces - the staff and one transom. Over time they became more elaborate. After 1650, most "modern" cross-staffs have four transoms of varying lengths. Each transom corresponds to the scale on one of the four sides of the staff. These scales mark off 90, 60, 30, and 10 degrees, respectively. In practice, the navigator used only one transom at a time. The major problem with the cross-staff was that the observer had to look in two directions at once - along the bottom of the transom to the horizon and along the top of the transom to the sun or the star. A neat trick on a rolling deck! The Sextant was the cross-staff's successor, and according to research, did not come into use until the early 1700's (roughly 1730). . 

On pouvait presque oublier qu'ils sont les fromage-mangeur singes de surrompre = One might almost forget that they are cheese-eating surrender monkeys.


	5. Chapter 4

A Tale of Two Captains – Chapter 4

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Janeway watched as Jack popped another olive into his mouth. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, as if each mouthful brought him closer to solving a mystery to which he very much wanted to know the answer. Throughout the meal, he had been quiet, almost subdued. His lazy posture did not fool her; she knew he was preoccupied with thoughts of the pursuing Dauntless, for the air fairly jangled with tension in spite of his languid movements and occasional saucy glances in her direction. It was a side of him she had not seen before, and the first time she'd seen him truly behaving as a captain might, no matter the century or quadrant of the galaxy, and it intrigued her almost against her will.

Janeway lifted her cup and swirled the murky contents for a moment, before glancing up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked finally, breaking the silence that had grown between them. She sat back, arms crossed over her chest, and fixed him with a look that said plainly, You're fooling no one.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he reached for another olive. "You're used to having your way about things, aren't you."  He smiled slowly. "One might almost believe that fabulous tale of you being a captain."  His smile faded just as slowly. "But we both know that can't be true, hm? A captain-- any captain-- would know about a cross-arm, and the Dauntless."

She nodded faintly, struggling briefly with the prideful urge to just tell him the truth.  "Yes, you're right," she agreed faintly. "I'm no captain. But that doesn't mean that I can't tell when something is wrong. It's good to talk things over, sometimes."

He arched an eyebrow. "Truth from your lips, madam? Finally?" He smirked, lifting his cup of grog in salute. "How refreshing.  I try to avoid it, meself."

Janeway frowned. "You're avoiding the subject as well, Captain," she told him dryly.

He shook his head. "Just like a woman," he said sadly. "Never lets a bloke have any peace."

She shook her head. "Nope," she replied. "Not going to let you insult your way out of it, either."

"Give over, woman," Jack said, exasperated. "If I wanted to talk to you about it, I would do so. But, as I have quite obviously used every method I know to keep from doing just that, might it be possible for you to accommodate me and shut your bloody mouth?" But there was no heat to his tone; he wasn't trying to be rude, just to get her to leave him alone, and Janeway decided she should respect that. She wouldn't have enjoyed Chakotay's bothering her, either.

"Fine," she agreed. "I'll just say good night then."

She stood to leave, and was only half-surprised to find him standing as well. Somewhere along the way, Jack Sparrow had learned proper manners, though he strove mightily to hide them. He was still distracted, however, and did not seem inclined to escort her to Anamaria's cabin. The grooves around his eyes and bracketing his mouth seemed deeper that night, as if etched more deeply by care and concern.

Not really thinking about what she was doing, Janeway stood on tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his. It was the briefest of kisses, and she had only a fleeting impression of smooth lips and the prickle of mustache and beard before drawing away, but the surprise on his face was priceless. It was a kiss of comfort, utterly without passion, and the smile he flashed her was genuine and appreciative of that fact.

"Good night, Jack," she murmured, and left his cabin, making her way to the one she shared with Anamaria.

~ * ~

Anamaria was already gone when Janeway rolled out of the bed - literally. The Black Pearl pitched at such an angle that she found herself in a heap of blankets on the floor of the cabin and a bruise forming on her hip.

It was most definitely not the way she was used to waking.

Rising gingerly to her feet, she clutched at the table as another rolling wave caused the wooden floor beneath her feet to tilt, and she closed her eyes. "I'll never get used to this," she muttered grumpily. She expected the door to be locked, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was not. They had either forgotten to lock her in, or they were beginning to trust her just a little. _Or, more likely_, Janeway thought as she climbed the stairs to the deck, _they figured I don't have anywhere to run to and realized it was pointless._

The tension on deck was nearly tangible as the crew moved about their duties, an urgency to their movements that wasn't there the day before.  They worked feverishly to speed the Black Pearl on its way as quickly as possible.  Jack stood firmly at the wheel, his shoulders back as he kept his eyes on horizon.  He did not take his eyes from the sea, even when Janeway finally reached him.

"Where are we?" Janeway asked, following his gaze in hopes of seeing something besides endless rolling waves.

"A few leagues off the western coast of Hispaniola, and but an hour from our destination." His gaze flicked her way, then back toward the horizon. "Hope we get there before Norrington knows what we're about."

She nodded, having played this game herself more than a time or two with an enemy bent on destroying Voyager.  "Or else what?" she asked, suddenly a little nervous at the prospect of actually being in a sea battle between a pirate ship and the pride of the English Navy.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a familiar smile. "You don't want to know, luv," he said finally. 

The purposefully vague answer did not please her. "Jack," she replied, her voice more urgent, "I don't like going into battle unprepared. I need to know what we're up against. Don't try to shelter me like a feeble woman." Her eyes slitted with annoyance, she took a step closer to emphasize her point. "I am not feeble."

He cocked his head to one side, his puzzlement clear. "If I didn't know you were a consummate liar, I'd think that you just might be a captain, after that speech." He matched her smirk. "Fortunately, I know that you *are*, in fact, a consummate liar."

It was difficult not to throttle him. Janeway reminded herself that it was not an acceptable response, no matter how aggravating the man was. She gritted her teeth and silently counted to ten. "Jack…"

"We're outgunned and outmanned, savez?" Jack said shortly, turning his gaze to the horizon once more. "Our only hope is in outrunning them, which, it appears, isn't going to be easy. If Norrington turns his long nines on the Pearl, we're done for." He glanced down at her with a grim look. "Simple as that."

Her ire fled just as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling somewhat weak. "What will happen if he does?"

The swagger was back. "He'll probably throw a rope over the mast and hang me on the spot."

"That's barbaric!" Janeway sputtered.

Jack lifted an eyebrow at her. "Fancy words, from a supposed French captain. The French are as barbaric as they come."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Indeed," she said dryly. "What about the rest of us?"

"The **rest** of us?" He pounced on her words like a cat after prey. "If you're not French, what are ye?"

"Scottish and English," she admitted grudgingly.

"Really?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Now, do I believe you this time? Or do I not?" He paused, and grinned. "I've a Scot in the woodpile, or so me dad told me once. But me mum... ah, she was a Spanish lass he met during a raid on the Canaries." Then he blinked. "And I have no idea why I just told you that." He turned away then, busying himself with a tattered map.

But Janeway was interested. "He just 'met' her during a raid?" she prodded. "I assume he, too, was a pirate... how does a pirate go about meeting women?"

He looked up from the map and gave her a slow, deliberate look. "Sometimes, they just appear on the deck of his ship," he said, his voice lowered to that silken cadence he adopted when he was trying to be seductive. It was to her great chagrin that he was so damned good at it. "But always, it is simply a matter of seeing what you want." He paused, leaning toward her meaningfully. "And taking it."

"I... see," she replied, striving to infuse her tone with a dryness she did not, in all honesty, feel.

He cocked his head slightly. "Do you, now?" he drawled softly, closing the distance between them.  His mouth settled, warm and firm, on her own, and Janeway was uncomfortably aware that her sense of wrongness was completely overridden by her sense of rightness... she shifted closer to him, parting her lips, inviting him closer, and swatted away her negative thoughts like a pesky fly.

But before she could raise her arms to encircle his neck, Gibbs stomped up to them then, abruptly shattering the private little world they'd created. "Sorry to be botherin' you, cap'n, but I thought it'd bear remindin' that the soddin' Dauntless is bearing down on us."

She felt her face flame with embarrassment and tried to pull away, but somewhere during the kiss, Jack's arms had come around her and held her fast against him. The steady, slow thump of his heart against hers made her doubt he'd been as affected by it as she was, for her heart was racing like a frightened rabbit's. It was only when he gazed down at her with his ink-dark eyes, saw the fire just barely banked within them, that she realized he had been just as invested in it as she.

"Sorry for the interruption, love," he murmured into her ear. "Perhaps we can continue our... conversation... at a time when death doesn't loom over the horizon."  His hands lingered at her waist a moment longer, before releasing their hold. 

Then he ruined the distinctly favourable feelings she'd been having for him by giving her a hearty slap on the rump. "Now, begone with ye, lass. I've work to do if we're to stay alive. Find Cotton and see if there's something you can do to stay busy." He paused, a glint of humour in his eye. "Since you're useless at navigating."

Janeway scowled, inciting him to chuckle at her, and took herself and what was left of her dignity off to find Cotton. It took a while, but eventually she discerned that his parrot's shrieks of "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" meant that she was to do an inventory of the aft hold

In the murky bowels of the Black Pearl, time lost meaning as she wandered through heaps of plunder; barrels, crates, sacks, and untidy piles of the most extraordinary things caught her attention and imagination as she wondered who they'd belonged to before coming into the possession of the pirate crew.

But as she restacked the fallen crates, it occurred to her that the perfect opportunity had just presented itself. Everyone was distracted with the Dauntless, even Jack. 

Leaving his cabin unguarded.

Leaving her able to search it.

Her mind made up instantly, Janeway replaced the last crate on the floor and made her way to the storeroom's door. Creeping stealthily, she made her way down the warrenlike corridor to the other end of the ship. The captain's cabin was only reached from the deck, but if everyone was sufficiently distracted, perhaps they wouldn't notice her. It was just a few steps from the top of the stairs to the door of the cabin.

It occurred to her, as she crouched beneath the stairs, that the door just might be locked. After all, with a ship full of pirates, even if they were his crew, Jack might not be that trusting. Still, she would never know unless she tried. 

Leaving the relative safety of her hiding place, she climbed the stairs quickly; her shoulders tense in expectation of being caught. When no alarm was raised, she crossed the last few feet to Jack's cabin, and tried the door. It opened easily, much to her relief, and she stepped inside, shutting it behind her.

She leaned against the door a moment, her eyes sweeping the cabin as she tried to picture where Jack might have hidden her phaser and tricorder. "Think like a pirate," she muttered, crossing the room and heading for the chest at the foot of the bed. Her eyes strayed to the bed of their own accord, and the image of Jack, lying there with nothing but a sheet and a welcoming smile, momentarily flashed before her. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she opened the chest, and began to sift through the contents.

Old clothes-- some little more than rags-- bits of shiny metal that could be mistaken for jewellery in the wrong hands, something that looked suspiciously like an eye patch, and a stack of mouldy books: all fell through her fingers as she searched fruitlessly. Dusting her hands together, she closed the trunk and stood, wondering where to look next.

And that was when she heard the first of the cannon-fire.


	6. Chapter 5

A Tale of Two Captains, Chapter 5

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Commodore James Norrington's calm visage was the very picture of determined resolution. His pale eyes gazed upon a world that, to him, bore few colours but black or white. People like Jack Sparrow and William Turner, like even Miss Swann, puzzled him because they did not seem to see anything except shades of grey. They **were** shades of grey, and that puzzled him, almost to the point of anger. Sparrow in particular was grey, a smoldering charcoal version of it, with just enough white to redeem him, and make Norrington the slightest bit uneasy about what he was about to do.

There was no compunction in his mind about following the Black Pearl; the most notorious pirating vessel of the past two decades, it was only a matter of time before its shadow-like sails and dark hull were one again seen along the coasts of the richest islands of the Caribbean. Especially with Jack Sparrow at the helm; yes, just a matter of time.

But the man **had** done some good in his life. Once Mr. Turner had ceased his inappropriate display of affection with Miss Swann upon the ramparts of Port Royal, he had assured the commodore of Captain Sparrow's numerous merits, and she had joined her voice to his in praising the pirate. It was an indisputable truism that if not for Sparrow's undeniable nautical skills, quick wit, and sheer heroism, both Elizabeth Swann and William Turner would both be dead at the hands of Barbossa and his crew.

Ah, Barbossa. Now, there was a man Norrington could understand. Unfailingly immoral, without a moment's pause in his self-serving malignance, there were no puzzling and infuriating variations in his character. No, he was as he was, and Norrington had not been at all troubled to hear of his demise. That was the problem. Norrington was contemplating the inevitable passing of Jack Sparrow, in likelihood at his very hands, and found himself rather definitely puzzled. 

A pirate, yes. And as Mr. Turner had asserted, also a good man. Norrington was quite unable to reconcile the two. How could he hang a good man? And yet, how could he not hang a pirate? It was a most disturbing quandary, one that he did not in the least appreciate, and he found himself feeling entirely irate at Sparrow for putting him in this position.

It was perhaps for this very reason that the commodore put his most eagle-eyed sailor aloft with the strongest spyglass the Royal Navy possessed; to cover his doubt, to assuage his ruffled conscience, Norrington applied himself fervently to the task of locating the Black Pearl and its wayward captain. And thus it was not surprising to him when, hours after he had believed the Pearl had well and truly escaped them, an excited shout sounded from the crow's next top the mainmast.

"Commodore!" The young sailor's voice was near to breaking, and the faint sounds of a clearing throat made Norrington tap his shiny-toed boot impatiently as he waited. "There's a skiff hidden by the mouth of the bay!"

Norrington glanced through his own spyglass off the starboard side of the Dauntless. All of this part of the northern coast of Hispaniola was steep embankments plunging suddenly into the sea, thick vegetation crowding around the water's edge. The faded silver-grey of a small watercraft was scarcely visible under a tangle of vines and bracken, but visible it was. 

"Indeed, Mr. Peterson," he acknowledged. "And this would interested me, why? It is likely merely an abandoned boat, left to founder."

Now a huff of exasperation came clearly down from the crow's nest. Norrington made a note of it for Peterson's next quarterly personnel report. "Because, sir, there's two men in it." A pause. "Doesn't seem likely that they'd stay in a foundered boat, not so close to shore."

Norrington's eyebrows lifted a fraction as he digested this carefully. "Indeed," he repeated before turning to the officer at the helm. "Very well. Set a course for that inlet, Mr. Harlowe. Mr. Emmons," he addressed the chief gunner, "ready the long nines." 

"Sir," protested Lieutenant Gillette, "what if they're just civilians mucking about in their boat?"

"Then, Lieutenant, we shall apologize with all the graciousness of England," Norrington replied, the corners of his mouth curling in a faint smile of satisfaction. "Better that, than allowing our quarry to abscond because we were afraid of embarrassing ourselves."

Gillette's round face flushed, and he nodded before turning away to command the preparation of the guns. _Another good man_, Norrington thought_, but still a long way from becoming more than a lieutenant._ If there was one thing he had in common with Jack Sparrow, it was a captain's absolute need for flexibility. When lives and duty rested on your shoulders, pride was of little consequence. The necessity to tailor one's actions to the situation at hand was a necessity at sea. It was… a shade of grey.

Norrington squared his shoulders within the heavy wool of his uniform coat, and smiled. Perhaps Sparrow with his charcoal and gunmetal tones was not so very different from he, after all. 

He himself took the wheel to guide the Dauntless into the bay. The left side was rocky cliff, only a few hardier bits of plant clinging to its sheer face, but the right side was a more gentle slope to shore, and at the far end he could just make out another, smaller inlet. As he watched, a burst of colour erupted with a squawk from the skiff and, after a brief moment of awkward flapping, began to make its way toward the nearly-hidden entrance to a small inlet on the inner left side of the bay. Suddenly, Norrington knew with perfect clarity of Sparrow's location.. 

"Commodore?" Gillette inquired, startled by the sudden avid gleam in his commander's eye. 

"All hands on deck," Norrington murmured, "and all gunners to stations." Gillette's own eyes widened, but he turned and relayed the orders at the top of his lungs. By the time the Dauntless swung in the wide arc it needed to turn direction, Norrington found his interest captured by the imposing sight confronting him.

Halfway down the inlet was the Black Pearl, but instead of sitting in the water length-wise along the inlet, it stretched across it so it faced the mouth, and thus the Dauntless, broadsides. And it wasn't until a flash of fire and smoke erupted from that broadside that Norrington noted (with grudging admiration) that there appeared to be far, far more guns facing them than he recalled from his recent endeavors with that ship.

His admiration swiftly faded, however, when a ball ripped into the Dauntless, causing the mighty ship to shudder as splinters erupted from the new gaping wound in its side. "Fire!" he shouted, knowing his men heard him even over the raucous din of cannon fire impacting them. The deck became a maelstrom of smoke and flame as tinder was touched to fuse; the rumbling of heavy cast-iron recoiling back and loud report of the explosives teamed with the acrid stench of tense sweat, damp wool, and gunpowder. 

When the first volley from the long-nines smashed into the Black Pearl, a roar of approval rose among the marines aboard the Dauntless. Norrington thought he discerned a howl of protest that sounded suspiciously like "Stop blowing holes in my ship!" but that couldn't be correct, no. He glanced over at Gillette, who was pacing back and forth, occasionally uttering additional commands to the marines and gunners on the main deck. Though the Dauntless was taking a beating, it was nothing she couldn't easily withstand. Again and again, her guns roared, and the Pearl's responses grew fewer with each thundering volley sent at them.

Until at last, the guns of the Pearl fell silent.

Through the looking glass, Norrington could see the scrambling going on the decks of Sparrow's ship, but the cannon lay quiet. A moment later, and a flag was run up the main mast. But not the white flag, as he'd have expected from any other captain. Any other **sane** captain, he amended silently. No, it was the flag of parley. Sparrow, apparently, wanted to talk.

"Bloody hell," Norrington muttered. He'd already heard enough talking from Sparrow to last a lifetime.

~ * ~

Jack closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the battered wood of the great wheel that steered his beloved ship. All around him, his crew was almost completely incapacitated. His own ears still rang from the loud report of so much cannon fire, and his eyes stung from the smoke.

Ordinarily, it would have been bloody glorious.

But not this time. The Pearl had been manned with the scantest skeleton crew possible, and now almost every one of them was injured from the fight. Gibbs sported a nasty gash on his brow, Anamaria's sleeve was stained red from where a splinter had pierced her arm, and Jack himself had been blown over when the Pearl had rocked violently from one particularly strong volley, with the result that his knee had smashed into the base of the mizzenmast hard enough to make him see stars.

Worse than that, the Pearl felt differently under his feet. Always, she had spoken to him, whispered in his ear of the secrets of the sea. And now, she was not so much whispering as whimpering. "Aye, darling," Jack muttered to her, and patted the wheel with sad affection. "It's over, now." She'd fought valiantly, the Black Pearl and her crew, but there was nothing more to be done. He would not subject her to more demolition, but the idea of surrender galled him to the depths of his murky soul.

"Ladbroc," he said to the crew member who appeared less injured than the others, "run up the flag for parley." Jack watched as Ladbroc did as he was bid, gaze intent and burning with anger and loss and more than a touch of bitterness. He'd only just got the Pearl back, blast it. He felt a wail of "it's not fair!" rising in his throat, and clenched his jaw to contain himself.

Then he saw a flash of ruddy hair toward the bow, and realized he hadn't spared a single thought for Janeway the entirety of the battle. Pushing himself gingerly to his feet, he bounced a little to test his knee. Sore, but usable. Jack fell into his usual sauntering rhythm as he moved, striding as purposefully as he ever did toward her. 

She was crouched beside Quartetto, sponging blood splatters off his face and trying to smile reassuringly at the man. How she managed even that was a miracle, as Quartetto's right leg was twisted into what should have been an impossible angle. She looked up, and he caught the faintest shadow of worry in her eyes before she recognized him, and then the relief set in. 

"Are you hurt?" she asked, standing with a grimace. He reckoned she was sore, if she'd been hunched over caring for the wounded throughout the duration of the battle. She rubbed at the back of her neck, and then he knew that's exactly what she'd been doing. Unaccountably, he felt a little twist inside that she would go out of her way to tend to a ragged bunch of pirates.

"No, love," he replied, and then put lie to his words by wincing when a wave caused the deck to undulate beneath his feet, jarring his knee. She was there in a heartbeat, trying to get him to sit, but he refused. "No, madam," he insisted with growing testiness. "I'll not have the victorious commodore find Captain Jack Sparrow sitting on his backside when his ship is boarded."

A shout alerted them to the need to lower a ladder to the expedition from the Dauntless, and Cotton flung one over the side with his unwounded arm whilst his parrot shrieked in protest.

"Morte aux anglais!" the bird cried as the first bewigged head popped over the port railing. "Morte aux anglais!"

Jack heaved himself away from her. "Couldn't have said it better meself," he muttered, then reached up to settle his hat more jauntily on his head. Then he deftly twirled the ends of his moustache, eyes fixed on Janeway's the entire time. "Stay here," he told her firmly. "And don't do anything… stupid." Then he left her there, striding away to meet his destiny. 

He wished there'd been time for him to sneak a kiss. Alas.

"Commodore!" he exclaimed cheerily, as if his ship hadn't just been blown half out of the water by the man. "How good to see you again." 

Norrington ignored the grimy hand being extended to him, preferring instead to quirk an impossibly aloof brow. "Indeed, Mr. Sparrow. I—"

"That's… **Captain** Sparrow," Jack interrupted, bowing a little, hands together as if praying. "Captain."

Norrington took a deep breath, then thought better of it when Crimp came to stand rather closely to him. Crimp was, if Jack remembered correctly, the crewmember with that unfortunate and marked aversion to bathing. Norrington coughed, just once. Remarkable self-control the man had. Honestly.

"**Captain** Sparrow," Norrington amended, emphasis on the word connoting that he attached little to not respect to the title, "You affected a daring and dramatic escape from Port Royal three days ago. We were all suitably impressed, were we not, Mr. Gillette?" He glanced sideways at his lieutenant, who smirked and nodded. "But I am afraid that your capture has merely been postponed, not eliminated."

"Ah, I was afraid you'd say that," Jack said sadly. "But is there no mercy in your soul for me crew?" He looked left and right at the tattered remains of his men. "They've had no share of my piracy. 'Twas only a week ago that Will Turner and I picked them up on Tortuga. There's been no marauding since, as you well know… we were too busy rescuing the lovely Elizabeth Swann, Will and I." He sighed happily. "Ah, young love. Warms the cockles, it does."

Norrington's eyes narrowed; Jack knew he was treading on thin ice, taunting the commodore with his so-recent and doubtlessly painful loss of the beauteous Miss Swann to the lowly yet appealingly earnest blacksmith who'd adored her from afar for so long. But Jack had always been one to prod a bruise. "I have a **proposal** for ye, Commodore," Jack continued slyly.

Norrington sniffed. "You are hardly in any position to make any type of proposal, Sparrow."

"Ah, but you haven't heard it yet," Jack purred back. 

A muscle clenched in Norrington's jaw, and it was clear he was barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.. "Let's hear it, then."

"I propose," Jack said with an ingratiating smile, sunlight winking off his golden tooth, "that you take me by me onesies back to Port Royal for another of them so-called trials you put me through last time, and leave the Pearl here with me crew, free to take to wherever their hearts shall desire."

A snooty brow moved skyward. "You have already enjoyed the benefit of His Majesty's justice system, Mr. Sparrow. All that remains is the execution of it." He paused for effect. "And you."

Jack waved a negligent hand. "Details," he drawled. "Whether you take me for trial or hanging, the point remains that you'll be takin' me, and leaving me ship here, aye?" Norrington remained silent; Jack leaned in close. "Do we have an accord, Commodore?" he pressed.

Norrington was silent for so long that even Gillette began to shift a little nervously. "No, we do not," the commodore replied at last. "And shall I tell you why?"

"By all means," Jack replied, sweeping his arms outward in a gesture of mocking invitation. 

"Because I do not trust Mr. Turner and even Miss Swann to restrain themselves from attempting another heroic rescue." His eyes were cold and hard in his pale English face, but there was also a tinge of regret, 'round the pupils if Jack weren't mistaken. He wondered what it must be like for a man to be so damned **rigid**.

Jack reeled back dramatically, his own dark brows raising with skepticism. "So, you're going to do what? Hang me here?"

"Yes, actually," was Norrington's reply. "I rather thought I would." 


	7. Chapter 6

A Tale of Two Captains, Chapter 6

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Jack reeled back dramatically, his own dark brows raising with skepticism. "So, you're going to do what? Hang me here?"

"Yes, actually," was the commodore's reply. "I rather thought I would." A heavy silence fell at his words, and it seemed that the entire crew of the Black Pearl was holding its breath.

"Ye can't do that!" Gibbs exclaimed finally, able to contain himself no longer. "And after all Jack's done to save Mr. Turner and Miss Swann… that's barbaric, that is!"

Norrington frowned. "I shall be honest, sir, and say that I am not happy with this outcome. However, I as an agent of the Crown cannot turn a blind eye to the actions of a notorious pirate, no matter the good he has done recently." He was not pleased to see Sparrow preening at being called "notorious".

"There's got to be some other penalty ye can slap on him," Gibbs insisted. "How about... how about..." The man paused, obviously wracking his brains for some sort of solution to the problem. His face went slack in relief as he thought of something. "There's this old belief in the town I come from that the reason a man turns lawless is because he hasn't the moralizin' influence of a woman at his side." Ignoring the sounds of disbelief from those surrounding him, Gibbs pressed on. "There's a law, goes back t'Arthur it does, that a man be saved from the block or scaffold if a woman takes him to husband."

"Indeed, Mister Gibbs. Do go on," Norrington feigned interest.

Gibbs looked pleadingly at Anamaria, upon whose face dawned an apprehensive understanding of what he was going to say. "Ye're not wed, lass. Ye could marry with Jack and spare his life."

Anamaria scowled. "You're daft, man!"

Jack's kohl-lined eyes widened until it appeared they would fall from his sockets. "Let's not be hasty, gents," he said as persuasively as he could muster. Anamaria's furious glare turned on him. "It's just that, kind offer though it may be, I'm sure Anamaria wants nothing to do with the likes of me," he tried to amend.

"I could put up with you, if I were to own half the Pearl," she replied quickly, eyes alight with avarice. "For half of it, I'll marry you, Jack. I'll even bed you proper, whenever you like."

"Ah, but I could not do that to you, lass," Jack demurred, this time with a tinge more panic in his voice. "'Twould be a hard life, that of a pirate's wife. You'd be latched to me forever, and 'tis clear you're not overfond of me to begin with."

"You'll probably die soon," Anamaria said, and there was something in her voice that made the hair stand up on the back of Jack's neck. "I mean, in a raid, or some such," she continued, and smiled innocently.

Jack turned to Norrington. "I would very much like to be hanged now, if you don't mind overmuch, Commodore," he said. "Better a quick and easy death than… the alternative."

But Norrington's lips had begun to twitch, and as they all watched in a sort of horrified fascination, he began to laugh. Having never seen the man even smile before, Jack found it most unnerving. When he finally stopped, the commodore wiped at his eyes and gasped a little for breath. "I think, Captain Sparrow, that a lengthy span of time being pecked to death by this woman would be more than adequate recompense for all your previous offenses." 

His lips twitched again, and for a moment, all present thought they would witness yet another bout of laughter, but his expression remained tightly controlled. "I rather like this idea, Mister Gibbs." From the gleam in his eye, the thought of Sparrow being wed to a harpy such as Anamaria for the rest of his days pleased him well indeed.

"I disagree," Jack protested. The whites of his eyes were visible all round the pupils, and he was visibly straining in the opposite direction of Anamaria. "I've been far, far worse than such a minor punishment deserves. I impersonated a clergyman! A Spanish naval officer! I'm guilty of depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness, remember? Surely that means I should swing."

His eyes pled appealingly with Norrington, but that only sent the man into yet more gales of laughter. Upon sobering, he gasped, "Indeed. I am forced to admit that while pretending to be a priest is a serious offense—not to mention highly ironical-- none of your other acts of piracy have been anywhere near as violent or debauched as that of your counterparts. You have effectively demonstrated on more than one occasion a major flaw in character with regards to your inclination for piracy -- namely, your own sense of honour."

He was obviously enjoying watching Jack squirm. "Therefore, despite your beliefs to the contrary, perhaps hanging is not the answer at all. If the good lady," here he paused, his lips twitching again, "will give her consent to wed you, then I shall see it done and consider your sentence passed."

"I give it," Anamaria intoned.

It sounded like a death knell to Jack. "What about me?" he demanded. "I don't bloody well give my consent!"  

"Must it be Anamaria whom he marries?" asked another voice suddenly. A female voice. Jack watched in amazement and, he might someday freely admit, not a little relief as Janeway pushed her way to the centre of the crowd. "Or can any woman pay for his life with her hand?"

Ordinarily, Jack would have recoiled from the idea of marrying the woman. She was too willful by half, and far too dishonest for his taste. If there were to be lies between them, it suited him much better that he be the one committing them. He also believed quite firmly that she'd not overlook his little tendency to share the wealth, as it were, of his person with other ladies. And then there was the matter of his fondness for drink.. in spite of her ability to sock it away on a par with him, he was sure she would not accept a sot for a mate for any extended period of time. 

Then the stormy face of Anamaria caught his eye, and in spite of his determination to at least pretend not to be terrified of the notion, he flinched, and looked longingly at the rope that was dangling from the hand of one of Norrington's men. Gibbs was right—it **was** dreadful bad luck to have women aboard.

~ * ~

Janeway watched in dismay as the commodore and his men climbed aboard the Black Pearl. They looked every inch as stuffy as one might imagine naval officers being, and she wondered if that were how she appeared to younger officers—stuffy and remote, unapproachable and humourless and… the sound of Norrington's laughter ringing out jolted her from her little reverie.

She squeezed between Matelot and Kursar, still hanging back where she could listen, unobserved, to the exchange between Jack and the Commodore. Gibbs was blathering on about finding someone to marry Jack, instead of having him hang, and she felt a profound pang of pity for the poor soul who'd attach herself to the man. Jack was attractive in a deranged sort of way, but the idea of being hitched to him for life… she shuddered.

Then she saw Anamaria answer favourably to the notion, and shuddered again. Anamaria was a true pirate; she was out to take what she could, and give nothing back. Jack didn't deserve that fate. He had been kind to her, in his fashion, and Janeway knew she couldn't allow him to die if she had the means to prevent it. 

And thus it was with a bit of a sense of horror, as if watching from a great distance, that she found herself pushing her way forward to address the Commodore. "Must it be Anamaria who he marries?" she asked calmly. "Or can any woman pay for his life with her hand?"

Norrington's eyes rounded with surprise before his face composed its usual neutral mask. "I would have your name, madam, and how you came to be aboard the Black Pearl with this contingent of scalawags."

"Pay her no mind, Commodore," Jack cut in just as Janeway opened her mouth to answer. "She's me brother's wife's sister." He made a little motion with his finger towards his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Poor lass, she took a knock to the head a few years back and hasn't been right since."

Janeway shot him a look that would have melted a lesser man before directing her gaze back to Norrington. "My name is Kathryn Janeway," she told him. 

"Miss Janeway," Norrington acknowledged, and nodded curtly, waiting for her to continue, but Jack interrupted.

"Shall we repair to my cabin for this discussion?" Jack asked expansively, gesturing with a languid wave of the arm in that direction. "Cotton, a bottle of the Picard '47, if you please." He shot a half-grin toward Janeway and the commodore. "Only the best for guests of the Black Pearl."

Janeway blinked as she followed Jack's distinctive, swaying walk to his cabin, Norrington on her heels. Picard '47? _Good Lord_, she mused, _how old **was** Jean-Luc's bloody vineyard?_ This was beginning to feel almost frighteningly surreal. 

Once they were seated around the heavily carved dining table, delicate goblets of fragrant and doubtlessly extremely potent red wine in their hands, Norrington bid Janeway to continue.

"I was a passenger on Le Voyageur," Janeway told him, her gaze never leaving the commodore's face. She knew perfectly well how to play a bluff, and eye contact was a must. "It wrecked in a storm, and the Black Pearl rescued me. I've been treated with nothing but civility since I arrived, and would prefer not to see my host treated in this way." At this, she turned to glance at Jack. His own dark eyes were locked on her, unfathomably deep, and she felt yet another frisson of awareness of him shoot down her spine. 

_How much of this effort of yours is only because you can't stand to see a man be executed?_ insinuated a tiny, rebellious voice in the back of her head. She ignored it, lifting her chin another centimeter.

"And your companions?" the commodore asked. "Did any others survive from Le Voyageur?"

Janeway lowered her eyes, apparently stricken with grief. "I'm afraid not," she said at last. From her right, a sound issued from Jack that sounded suspiciously like choked-back laughter. She aimed a poisonously sweet smile at him, and was gratified to see him sober quickly, though he stared hard down into his goblet as if it held the answers to all the mysteries of the world.

"I see." Norrington took a cautious sip of his wine, staring at it in pleased surprise. "Where was your point of departure?

"I departed from… Calais," Janeway replied with the tiniest of hesitations, and damned herself for paying more attention to science and spatial anomalies than the geography of Europe during her education. 

"And your destination?"

Janeway scoured her mind for another island in the Caribbean, specifically, a French one. "Martinique," she said at last. 

"For what purpose?"

Janeway frowned. "My business there is my own," she said, taking care to keep her tone neutral.

Norrington did not answer; instead, he swirled the wine round his glass, watching the red tinge as it sluiced down the gently curved sides, before glancing up to study her. "And your family?" he inquired. "I cannot imagine the family of a woman of your station would willingly allow you to travel alone across the ocean." 

"Of my station?" Janeway's brows lifted nearly to her hairline. "What station would that be?"

His pale gaze raked over her again. "I observe," he began, grasping her hand and turning it palm-up, "that your hands are not rough; rather, they are soft and well cared-for. Therefore, you do not work with them." He relinquished her hand, returning his own to cupping the bowl of his wine glass. "And there remains the issue of your speech."

"My speech?" There was nothing she could do about her Midwestern American accent, but surely she hadn't embarrassed herself too badly?

"Your diction," he elaborated. "I am unfamiliar with the pronunciation, but it is clear to me you have been gently reared and educated." He sipped from his goblet. "I cannot permit such an uneven union between you and a pirate."

He thought she was nobility? Janeway goggled at him a moment before straightening her shoulders. "Believe me, Commodore, my blood is just as red as everyone else's." 

He mused over that a moment. "Your father is a professional man, then? Doctor, lawyer… minister?"

The idea of her father, Admiral Edward Janeway, being any of those things threatened to make her laugh. "No," she managed to say. "He was a… sea-captain." She felt, rather than saw, Jack's glance of speculation at that. "His ship was the Courageous, a merchant vessel." 

"And successful enough to provide for your education," Norrington finished for her. She could only nod. "So then, Miss Janeway, not nobility are you, but good yeoman stock. It is still evident that you are not accustomed to a life such as would be had on this ship. There will be much strife, much violence and bloodshed. The breaking of law and morality will be a common, likely daily, occurrence."

_Might as well brazen it out, _Janeway thought. "A little strife never bothered me, Commodore," she replied, careful to keep her tone dulcet and her gaze mild. It would never do to have Norrington think she was some sort of strident shrew. It seemed to work, because a little of the suspicion was replaced in his gaze with a rather alarming bit of admiration. Beside her, Jack coughed. It sounded grumpy, if a cough could sound that way. 

"And then there is the issue of the actual marriage," Norrington continued. "Have you given any thought whatsoever to what wedding a pirate would entail? I think we can all acknowledge that fidelity will rarely, if ever, be a part of the bargain."

Janeway smiled. "Yes, Jack will have to put up with my seeking… entertainment… elsewhere on occasion," she said demurely, "but I think we can come to an agreement." Yes, she knew it was an unwise thing to say, but dammit, this Commodore fellow was really beginning to get on her nerves. Jack threw back his head and laughed, then approvingly slapped her on the shoulder hard enough to almost jar her from the chair.

It was worth it to observe how Norrington's eyes widened in horror. Then he saw how her mouth was twitching with amusement, and nodded shortly. "I see you will have your jest," he said tightly. "Still, I cannot allow you to marry Mr. Sparrow. Even if you are not noble, still your family's status is far above—"

"Captain," said the man himself, setting down his goblet on the table with great exactitude and precision. "It's **Captain** Sparrow." In spite of his lazy grace as he lounged in his chair, there was an aura of tension in him. Norrington was insulting the man, to his face no less, about his low birth and lack of standing; Janeway was not surprised he was tense. She was surprised, however, to realize how irritated it made her to see him maligned so blatantly.

"Just so," Norrington answered with a great deal of evident dislike. "As I was saying, I cannot in good conscience permit you to marry **Captain** Sparrow. It would be a match of grave impropriety."

"I **do** thank you for your concern, Commodore," Janeway replied, clasping her hands together to control their angry shaking, "but as I am certainly above the age of consent, I am free to marry who I choose. If I have no problem with such a liaison, I see little reason that you should."

The commodore's eyes narrowed in annoyance. It seemed the end of his patience had been reached. "The problem, Miss Janeway, is that it is positively unconscionable to allow a well-bred woman to wed a pirate! This man wages battle on innocent merchants and sailors—men like your own father-- killing indiscriminately out of greed, because he can't be bothered to make a decent living! To bind your life to his would mean espousing a life of thievery and death! He--"

The sound of Jack's palm, slapping the table hard enough to make the wine glasses rattle, interrupted Norrington's diatribe. "I will remind you, Commodore, that you know little about me, and nothing whatsoever of my motivations," Jack said, low and smooth but somehow impossibly menacing as well. The lower-class accent had fled from his voice, as well. Norrington looked more intrigued by that than by the fact he was angering what Janeway could easily see was, for all his odd ways and easygoing nature, a very dangerous man.

 "Come now, Commodore," he prompted, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. "Have I ever given you cause to doubt me?" He paused. "Some might not speak the truth, when they give their word—say, a lovely young lass who promises to wed the stalwart yet stodgy naval officer in order to save the man she actually loves—but not me." He smiled sunnily at them. "No, not Captain Jack Sparrow."


	8. Chapter 7

A Tale of Two Captains, Chapter 7

By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl

Norrington tensed then, his entire form going stiff with offense and anger. Jack just continued to smile. Janeway sat back and observed, not sure exactly what Jack had meant but quite sure he'd scored a direct hit against the other man. She made a mental note not to let Jack know much about the few skeletons in her closet. She had a feeling he'd stop at nothing to win an argument: it was obvious he approached verbal battles with the same deadly intent as his physical ones.

"Quite so, Captain Sparrow," the commodore said at last. Then his eyes dropped to Jack's hand still resting on the table. He appeared to be peering quite hard at it, and Jack frowned, dropping his hand casually on his knee, but not before Norrington's flinty gaze lifted. "_Sine liberate est vita nihil_," Norrington murmured. "Life without freedom is nothing." His head tilted to one side like a curious bird. "That sounds suspiciously like a family motto, such as one would find in the quality." His glance flicked over Jack again. "Another bit of plunder, Captain?"

Jack's black eyes were unwavering as he stared back, seeming to be making a decision about his answer. "No," he replied at last. "This ring is mine by birthright." Norrington opened his mouth, but Jack interrupted. "I shall say no more of that. Pirate I may be, but an uncommon one." He slouched back in his chair once more, the smirk returning to his lips. "Am I more suitable for our Miss Janeway now?"

"Scarcely," said the commodore slowly, but he turned to her. "You are amenable to this, then?"

Jack was silent so long, Janeway turned to face him, and was disconcerted to find his speculative gaze resting on her. "Scarcely," he said at last, and grinned at her.

_Remember how you need to get the tricorder and phaser back,_ she reminded herself as anger flared up again, refusing to entertain the nasty mutterings of her mind about ingratitude and how she should just let him swing.

"Miss Janeway," he said slowly, "I remain unconvinced that marriage to you would be punitive to Captain Sparrow, despite your tasteless joke of before." He frowned. "Perhaps all the more because of it."

Janeway gave him a smile before turning to aim it at Jack. He shifted uneasily, correctly deducing that nothing good could come of such a baring of teeth. "I assure you, Commodore," she began, "that I will make Jack long for the noose like Anamaria never could." Jack grumbled, and she shot out her elbow to make contact with his ribs, smiling wider when he grunted in pain.

Norrington's face showed surprise, and then his mouth began to curl yet again. She wondered if he'd break out laughing once more. But no, his stiff upper lip was in control, and he merely smiled. "I see I have misunderstood the… rapport between you," he said at last, delight at the situation restored as he looked over her shoulder to Jack, and stood. "In that case, I will permit you to do this, but ask one last time for you to reconsider."

She rose as well, aware that Jack came to stand at her back. He was close, his chest almost touching her back, and she realized it was a protective stance. A **claiming** stance. He was showing Norrington without words that he already considered Janeway his own. She wasn't thrilled with the development. "I appreciate your concern, but I have made my decision, and will stand by it." She paused. "I would like a moment to discuss this with Captain Sparrow, if you please."

"I thank you for the refreshment." The commodore nodded to Jack, who nodded back in rather a more exaggerated fashion, and the door clicked shut behind him as he left.

Janeway's poise faltered as soon as they were alone, and she slumped back into her chair. _What was she doing?_ Instead of working toward getting back to Voyager, it seemed she'd just dug herself deeper into this world. Creating a tie, no matter how tenuous and loveless, between her and this pirate would come to no good in any way, she was sure of it. The only benefit she could see to her actions were that at least she'd be able to remain closer to her stolen belongings. It was imperative that she get her tricorder and phaser back.

And, of course, there remained the issue of what her sacrifice would accomplish. Capital punishment had not existed on Earth for many centuries, and the very idea of executing a man in cold blood for his crimes, instead of incarcerating him, made her nearly nauseous. In light of this, there was no way she could refuse to do whatever she could to keep him alive.

The soft touch of Jack's fingertip up the side of her neck yanked her from her reverie, and she sprang from the chair to face him, startled.

"Ah, don't be skittish, lass," he said quietly, the common tones back in his voice. "I'd just like to thank ye for doing me this service." His eyes were dark and soft as he approached, watching her all the while, until he stood directly before her.

Janeway lifted her chin a notch. "You can thank me," she said, "by returning the belongings you and your crew have taken from me."

Jack only smirked, the gold of his tooth winking dully in the dim light streaming through the cabin windows. "The day you decide to tell me the truth, I'll hand them over good and proper, love. Until then, I'll just keep them safe for you, savez?

A familiar leer appeared on his face as he stepped even closer, bringing the fronts of their bodies into contact, and looked down at her. "Of course, I'm more than willin' to let you try to persuade me," his voice dropped suggestively. "I'm not a fellow who can't be made to change 'is mind, if properly motivated."

He seemed to correctly interpret the teakettle-like noises she was making as a 'no', and stepped back, his hands held out in front of him as if to ward her ire off.

"This is a marriage of convenience, Jack," she informed him coldly. "I'm doing this to save your life, and get my things back. That's all. If you try to force yourself on me, I'll…" Her words trailed off as she groped for the right way to finish the threat. She never got the chance, however, because quicker than she could blink, Jack had somehow managed to grab her, spin her around, and squash her hard against the wall of the cabin with her arm twisted behind her.

"You'll what?" he breathed into her ear. "Do not make the mistake of thinking I shall be so beholden to you in gratitude that you will command me as you wish. I am still captain of this ship, and when we are wed, I shall be captain of you, as well."

Janeway swallowed the lump in her throat, steadfastly trying (and failing) to ignore the thrill of desire wriggling its way through her at the press of his lean body against her. She was not ignorant, either, of how his hips were pushed against hers. "It would be rape," she said in a low voice, holding very still.

He kissed her cheek heartily and noisily, then pulled away to slap her soundly on the backside. "Would it be, madam?" He smirked. "I remain unconvinced."

She turned and leveled a glare on him that should have set him on fire. He merely continued to grin in that maddening way of his. "Does this mean there won't be a cozy little honeymoon, Katey me lass?"

"No," she snapped. "There will be no **honeymoon**." She pushed past him to leave the cabin. "And don't call me Katey!" His only response was a low chuckle which made her hands itch to strangle him. Topside again, Janeway knew her eyes were snapping as she strode toward where Norrington stood conferring with his officers.

"Sparrow," the commodore drawled, "Can it be you've managed to anger your... fiancée already, in the two minutes since I left the cabin?"

"What can I say, Commodore?" Jack replied lazily, sauntering up. "There's something about me that just stirs women up." The Pearl's crew laughed at that, but Norrington and his men just frowned, as if puzzling over what Jack could possibly have meant, and Janeway was seized with a moment's sympathy for them. She was sure they were good men, but it was doubtful they'd ever engendered in a woman the sort of thoughts that she herself was harbouring-- entirely against her own will she might add— for the incorrigible Captain Sparrow.

She could still feel him all along the back of her body. It was not a good sign.

Norrington's confusion was soon replaced by apprehension once more. He directed his gaze to her. "It is not too late to reconsider, Miss Janeway. You would be welcome aboard the Dauntless until we reached Port Royal." His expression softened slightly as he regarded her. "Are you certain this is what you truly wish to do?"

_No._ "If it is the only way to save a man's life from execution, and from… a worse match, then yes. I am certain." She paused, liking him very much indeed. Stuffy he might be, but a decent man nonetheless, who'd tried hard to help her. "I very much appreciate your concern on my behalf, and won't forget it."

He nodded briskly, then. The decision was made. "Let us make ready, then." He turned to Gillette. "There is a wedding to be performed."

Jack cocked his head to one side, thinking. It was clear that Norrington planned on marrying them right then and there. Janeway's expression was of both fury and determination. He knew well what it was like to be forced by one's conscience to do something one did not actually wish to do, and he wondered if he should make some sort of effort to make this somewhat more pleasant for her.

"Commodore," he drawled, "I wonder if my fair bride would prefer to be attired somewhat more suitably for her wedding."

Norrington's brows snapped together, and he turned to look at Janeway, seeming to realize for the first time that she was wearing threadbare trousers and a grimy, obviously borrowed shirt. "Sparrow," he said on a heavy exhale, "might I remind you that this is not a joyful union of twin souls, but a desperate gesture of gratitude meant to saving you from swinging?"

"Suit yourself," Jack replied, shrugging indolently. "It's not every day a lass plights her troth. Just thought she might like to do it in a frock, with her hair combed."

Janeway's hand came up unconsciously to touch her hair, and she shuddered to realize it was straggling out of her braid. "I must look hideous," she muttered to herself.

Jack had to laugh at that. "No, Katey. Just like the disheveled pirate wench you are."

She glared at him. "I'm not a pirate wench, you idiot," she growled. "And don't call me Katey." She turned to find Norrington grinning widely at their sparring. "Jack's right, Commodore. I would appreciate some time to… tidy myself."

"By all means, Miss Janeway," he replied, lips twitching as he fought to sober himself. "I shall return to the Dauntless, and be back in an hour."

"Ah, so we're all agreed! Excellent!" Jack exclaimed. "Let's celebrate! Where's the rum?"

"No drinking," Janeway told him repressively. "Wait until this is over, and then you can drink yourself into oblivion. But I'm not marrying someone who barely stand."

Jack pouted; Janeway was immovable. "Fine," he conceded at last. "But Anamaria'll be helping you primp." Then he smiled when she went a little pale at the prospect of being alone with the other woman, who'd been glaring daggers at her ever since she'd pushed her way into the situation.

"Follow me," Anamaria commanded, and led the way belowdecks to where there might be something else for Janeway to wear. Jack heaved a sigh, and wandered back to his cabin.

And Norrington returned to the Dauntless, grinning shamelessly the entire way.

Anamaria stomped to the aft hold and began digging in a large crate. "Here's a fine gown," she said, pulling one of crimson taffeta out and holding it up against Janeway, who stood mute at the weirdness and incongruity at being dressed for her marriage—to a pirate—by the woman who'd been competing for the same thing not a half-hour earlier.

The other woman tilted her head consideringly, then tossed the dress over her shoulder. "No, the colour makes you look peaked." She rummaged some more, and found a tawny yellow gown laden with plenty of gold braid trim. "No," she declared after squinting at it a moment. "You'd look like you were in a Mardi Gras parade, to be sure."

"I'd rather avoid that," Janeway said dryly, still trying to deal with the surreality of it all.

When Anamaria came up with a third gown, Janeway stopped her with a hand on her forearm. "Anamaria," she said, "Why are you helping me? I know you can't be happy about this. I know you want the Pearl."

"Aye, I do," Anamaria replied frankly. "But it looks as if I won't be getting' it, so where's the sense in belabouring the point?" She grinned. "Besides, even the Pearl wouldn't be enough to make me put up with Jack Sparrow for any length of time, I'm thinking." Then she eyed Janeway craftily. "Of course, that's just me. Others might find the experience more… pleasant."

Janeway flushed, knowing Anamaria was referring to the almost-clinch she'd had with Jack at the helm, which apparently the entire crew had been privy to. "I—" she began, but Anamaria just shook her head.

"No use protesting," she told Janeway. "Ye might be able to lie to yourself, but there's not a soul alive as can fool me. Ye want him, and that's a fact."

Janeway frowned and grabbed the dress from Anamaria. "This one's fine," she muttered, not even looking at it, and strode from the hold toward Anamaria's cabin. Once there, she ignored the other woman's knowing smirk and sat on the chair, attacking her hair with a wooden comb missing several teeth.

"I'll bring ye some water to wash up," Anamaria said, and disappeared. Once alone, Janeway dropped the comb onto the bed and buried her face in her hands, letting out a slow, weary breath. She felt… exhausted. The past few days had been hard on her physically, but she was used to physical hardship. No, it was the emotional upheaval she'd experienced since meeting one Jack Sparrow that had been draining her. That, and worrying about damage to the Prime Directive: what were the repercussions of her actions on the future of this place? Was she interrupting an important timeline by saving Jack, instead of allowing him to hang?

There was no way to tell. All she knew was that, for whatever reasons, she couldn't allow Norrington to execute Jack. She just… couldn't. The fervour of her determination to keep him alive worried her. She didn't love him; she scarcely even liked him. _Ok, that wasn't entirely true_, she admitted to herself, and took up the comb again, trying to unsnarl her hair. She liked Jack. He was imminently likeable, in spite of the leering and swaggering and intermittent bouts of violence. She wondered what it said about her that she could like him in spite of all of that.

Then she turned her attention to the dress she'd dragged from the hold, and all thought of worrying disappeared.

The dress was silk, of the most luscious colour Janeway had ever seen. Not blue, not green, but somehow both at the same time, deep and vivid without being dark or gaudy. It flowed like water over her hands as she held it, and though Janeway had never been a woman to obsess about attire, she found herself hoping fervently that it would fit.

The bodice was sewn with tiny crystal beads and pearls, and the deep décolletage was framed by a narrower version of the creamy lace cuffs that frilled from the elbow-length sleeves. The skirt fell in liquid folds to the floor, shimmering almost indecently even in the murky light struggling through the tiny cabin's single dingy window.

She was still gaping at it when Anamaria returned. "Found you some underthings," the woman announced, then stopped to see Janeway mesmerized by the gown. "I see you're pleased with your choice," she commented dryly. "Well, shuck those things of yours, let's see if you can actually get into the damned thing."

Janeway was out of the trousers and shirt in less than fifteen seconds, to Anamaria's amusement. "All of it," she prodded, and Janeway reluctantly slipped out of her bra and panties as well, pretending not to notice Anamaria's curiousity over those strange garments as she tucked them under her discarded clothes.

She washed quickly, hoping the hard brown soap wouldn't scour her skin too harshly, then reached for the dress. It didn't fit at first, but then Anamaria suggested they try it again with the corset she'd brung. Janeway was not entirely pleased at that prospect, and indeed felt like she was being squeezed in a vice when Anamaria put her foot against Janeway's backside and pulled on the corset strings to tighten it, but once the gown was on and she could see how tiny her waist was, and how plump her breasts—always rather modestly-sized--  were as they pushed over the neckline of the gown, she had to admit it was worth it.

If only to see the expression on Jacks'  face when he laid eyes on her.

She took one look at Anamaria's face, shining just as mischievously as she knew her own to be, and burst out laughing. "Ow," she gasped after a moment. "Laughing in a corset **hurts**."

"Aye," Anamaria said, "which is why I don't wear 'em." She pushed Janeway into the chair and took up the comb after sticking a handful of hairpins in her mouth. "Let's get you finished, Norrington will be back soon."

Janeway submitted to being adjusted. There was no mirror, so she'd just have to trust Anamaria to not make her look terrible. But the woman's hands were deft and confident, and Janeway had to ask about her life before piracy.

"I was a lady's maid in Barbados," she said, and slid another hairpin into her creation to secure it before grinning. "Not bloody enough for me, that, so I left as soon's I could."

Janeway wondered if she were joking about the "bloody enough" part. "Were you a…" Janeway began haltingly, not sure how to ask if a person had been a slave.

"Aye," Anamaria repeated. "But no longer. There's little difference between slave and freeman in piracy, little difference between black and white. And Jack's never treated me different, either. It's why I haven't killed him, even though he stole my boat." Satisfied with her work, she stood back and surveyed it critically. "He's a good man, he is. I was only joking about him dying, before, you know." At Janeway's skeptical expression, she relented. "All right, **mostly** joking."

The sound of shouts and the clunking of military boots on the deck above startled them. Anamaria grabbed Janeway's hands and pulled her to her feet. "Now, let's go. You've a pirate to wed."


End file.
